


The Telling Touch

by sassy_cat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cat/pseuds/sassy_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione finds married life to be less than what she needs. She tries to have it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Telling Touch

Title: The Telling Touch  
Characters/Pairing: Hermione/Ron, Hermione/omc  
Word Count: 788  
Rating: R  
Warnings: infidelity, angst  
Challenge: Kink: dream sex/ "There’s a lot of words behind every silence."/weekly theme: Time  
Author's Notes: Written for hp_may_madness Day 2

 

 

May 2005  
She looked into his eyes and wondered if his gaze would ever hold forgiveness. The clock ticked and for every second he sat frozen and unresponsive, each tick seemed to grow louder. There’s a lot of words behind every silence, and this silence spoke of finality.

She'd expected wailings of disbelief, slamming of doors or harshly worded accusations. She couldn't help but tremble with fear because they were facing the end of something that had come to define them.

She knew there was no taking it all back, nothing the Time-Turner could do to change her feelings, so she gathered her courage and said, "I think you need to leave." She heard the quiver in her voice but hoped her feelings didn't show on her face.

She wanted to be made of sterner stuff… to keep his respect if not his love. She rubbed her hands over her face accepting that perhaps, it was too late even for that. He stood and without a word, walked out the door.

 

 

February 2005  
It all started on a Tuesday. She slipped the tiny dial around her neck. Every mother wished she had more hours, more minutes in every day, if only to squeeze in a few precious moments alone when no one needed anything.

For the last seven years, her only time alone had been in her dreams. At night, strong hands groped her, pulled her and twisted her into whatever position was desired.

Her dream lover would pound into her body; take her mouth, her arse whatever hole he wanted. In her dreams, her lover suckled her breasts as if he needed her for his very survival. There were no gentle, easy touches only taking and complete submission.

At night, she was a woman again. Not his wife or their mother, she was wanted… craved and devoured. Every night her mystery man would take and take until she had no choice but to be caught up in the beautiful surrender of it.

Those dreams stirred feelings that bled over into her waking thoughts. She brought home strips of black satin, made jokes about being tied to the bed rails. She wore her sexy lingerie, and hinted that if he got a little rough, she wasn't a doll that he could break.

All her efforts were ignored in favour of gentle, sweet lovemaking filled with tender touches and quiet devotion. She cried the day she realised that her husband's touch no longer made her stomach flutter.

There was a time when just the sight of him made her ache with want, panties wet without a touch. Once she'd had overwhelming yearnings to rip open his shirt, to claw at the flesh beneath just to try to get closer to him.

Why couldn't he just _fuck_ her? Why could he not see Hermione? When had she become this shell of herself, some shrine to motherhood and goodliness?

She was the witch that made things happen. She got what she wanted and let no one take it from her. How many times had she saved all their arses with just her wits and determination?

And really, women did it every day. They took a lover, satisfied that itch, and then came home to their family. She could do it as well, and with the help of her Time-Turner, she'd never be missed. She could still be Little Miss Perfect… maybe Skeeter had been right about her after all.

Decision made, she gave the dial a quick turn and Apparated blind. It was reckless but that only added to the fun of it. She followed her instinct, instincts too long ignored; somehow knowing that she'd find what she needed wherever she landed.

When she walked into the pub, he was an easy choice. He was young, fit and itching to prove his manliness. He was easy to chat up too because he wanted the same as her, a hard fuck and no attachment.

For three months, she met him every Tuesday in a grimy room in Sheffield. He made her call him Master, and it was sexier than it should have been to a woman of her age. She felt _alive_ , alive for the first time in so long that she'd forgotten the feeling.

It wasn't until she slipped and called Ron the wrong name that it all changed. Her thoughts had been clouded with memories of a hard, punishing cock those memories heightened by the rug burn on her knees.

Then it all came pouring out, her dreams and her desires, her Tuesday afternoons… then there was nothing but silence. So much silence to show how far apart they were, how there was no more them.


End file.
